


Intimacy

by merulanoir, snuckybarnes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demisexuality, Demon Summoning, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Realism, Succubi & Incubi, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 14:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19175542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: Geralt summons an incubus. By accident.





	Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> We saw [this comic](https://japhers.tumblr.com/post/103983322994/things-i-think-about-at-night-incubi-who-are-all) and were inspired enough to write a fic that ended up a little bit longer than either of us thought.
> 
> Co-written, with Merulanoir writing Regis' PoV and Snuckybarnes writing Geralt's. We hope you like it!

**1.**

The call surprises him.

Usually a lingering intent gives him some notice he is about to be summoned, but this time he is yanked through space and time quite unexpectedly; everything spins, as it is wont to do, and then he is present and real once more, and there is a warm, solid body under him.

The man—for it is indeed a man—stares up at him with wide eyes. He is clutching a heavy, old tome in his hands. No, not clutching: holding it between them like a shield.

"Good afternoon." Regis grins. He knows why he is here, and sometimes the summoners are baffled the ritual actually works. It always passes.

"How may I be of service?" He lets the words stretch lazily, and allows his tail to brush against the man's neck.

One moment the man is frozen, staring, and the next he  _ throws  _ Regis across the room. Regis lands with less grace than is his custom, but as he struggles to sit up, he decides he won't beat himself up about it.

Summoners of an incubus don't usually throw said incubus away.

"What the fuck," the man growls. He is standing up, still holding the damned book in his hands. Only now does Regis register his eyes have slit pupils and yellow irises.  _ A witcher _ , his mind supplies. The man has white hair and a scar across his left eye.

"What— Why aren't you wearing any clothes?" he adds in a voice raising with alarm.

Regis feels the magic stretch then, and with a small puff, he is clothed.

_ Well, this is a first,  _ he thinks.

"You're not the most polite one, are you?" he says with a frown as he stands up. He looks at himself. "And I'd hazard a guess you have a thing for dress shirts." The clothes that appeared are stylish, he'll give the man that.

He crosses his arms, and as the man bristles, he makes an effort to calm his tail. It starts to twitch when he's uncertain. Which happens seldom, thank you very much.

"What the fuck are you?" the man asks. He doesn't look scared, per se, and Regis can't smell fear on him. Just adrenaline.

"An incubus," Regis says slowly. He has met witchers before, and he doesn't fancy getting stabbed with a silver sword. The man is dressed in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, but everything about him yells "monster hunter" to Regis.

"You summoned me," he adds, when the witcher doesn't answer. "An unusual choice, I must say, but rest assured, you're far from the first witcher to try their hand with a lust demon—"

"I didn't!" the man cuts him off. There is a look of dawning horror in his eyes, and Regis sighs.

"Come now. There is nothing to be ashamed of. I don't mind that you're a witcher any more than the fact that you're a man, as long as you're not going to harm—"

"I didn't summon you," the man repeats, voice dropping to an honest-to-gods growl. He stalks closer, and there still isn't a trace of fear about him. "I don't deal with lust demons."

Regis stares at him. Then his eyes fall to the old book the witcher is still holding, and he sees a familiar symbol on the leather cover.

"Oh, dear," he says.

***

Fifteen minutes later, he is sitting in the witcher's  _ kitchen _ , of all places. It's afternoon, going by the position of the sun. Autumn, Regis guesses as he peers out of the window. Everything around him looks domestic and normal.

The witcher is question is pacing the small room, muttering to himself. Regis catches the words "Dandelion" and "strangle him," but contents himself by watching his agitated summoner.

"I didn't summon you, not on purpose," the man says for the third time. He comes to a stop and leans against a counter. When he crosses his arms, Regis notices they are covered in scars.

"Inconsequential," Regis shrugs. "You spoke the words, I was called, and here we are. The pact is made, whether you want that or not."

"Pact?" the man squeaks. There is alarm in his eyes, and Regis understands it must come from his trade.

"Rest assured, your soul is safe," he says with a faint laugh. "We're bound together until the terms are fulfilled, and then I'll be on my way." He lifts his arm, and looks at the pact seal for the first time. Jagged black lines circle his wrist, like so many times before. When he lifts his gaze, the man is staring at the marks on his own wrist with mounting alarm. 

"I—" he begins, but then loses the rest of the sentence along the way.

Regis steps closer and frowns. Without thinking, he reaches his tail across the distance to brush it down the man's arm, but at the touch, his summoner flinches away as if burned.

It's odd. Touching each other should feel good.

Regis and the man stare at each other for a long time.

"Can't you just...leave?" the man finally asks. He rubs his eyes.

Regis shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. You invoked powerful magic when you summoned me, and I'm bound to you until the terms have been fulfilled."

The witcher continues staring at him, his eyes moving from Regis' black eyes to the horns, to the tail, and finally back to his face.

"I feel like I'm gonna regret this, but what terms are we talking about?" he finally asks.

Regis cocks his head. "Incubus, remember?"

Witchers can't really blush, but there is a definite redness creeping along his neck now. It's almost endearing. Regis waits, but when the silence stretches and starts to verge on agonizing, he takes pity.

"You must be...satisfied," he says. He tries to keep his posture relaxed and unassuming. " _ I _ must make you satisfied. Only then will I be able to leave."

The man pushes away from the counter. He is looking angry now.

"No fucking way," he spits out. "You're not touching me."

Regis rolls his eyes. "I was hardly saying I'm going to force myself on you." His tail twitches again. The witcher's eyes follow it, amber irises flashing in the late afternoon sunlight. Under different circumstances, Regis wouldn't have minded a summoner like him at all.

He sighs again. "I'm terribly sorry we ended up in this situation. But there really isn't much I can do about it. I obviously won't do anything you don't like, but unless we figure out a way to undo the ritual, we're stuck together."

_ Orianna is going to laugh herself sick, _ Regis thinks as he watches a parade of doubt and annoyance march across the witcher's face. Of all the witchers in the world, he is saddled with the one who doesn't conform to the reputation of his kind.

He is snapped out of his thoughts by the witcher walking out of the kitchen. Regis trails after him, but the man whirls around when he reaches the front door.

"Stay here," he says with a stubborn expression. "I'm gonna go and see if a friend of mine knows something about this."

Regis rubs his face. He was hoping he wouldn't have to broach this particular topic.

"We might have a problem," he begins, but the witcher scowls at him as he tugs on a jacket.

"We'll deal with that later. Don't go poking around while I'm gone."

"But, you see—" Regis says, wringing his hands. "You're not going to be able to—"

The door slams in his face, and then Regis can hear receding footsteps.

"Oh, hell." His voice sounds weary as he slumps against the wall in the dim foyer.

_ I guess we'll do this the hard way, then,  _ he thinks as he makes his way back to the kitchen. He sits down to wait, and his tail coils around his shin.

***

It takes a bit longer than Regis expects, but he chalks it up to his summoner being a witcher and able to resist the discomfort longer.

Unease escalates gradually, until Regis is the one pacing the kitchen floor. He tries to will himself to stand still, rubbing the base of his horns and reciting his favorite poetry, but when the magic tether finally reaches its end, he can't help but feel utter relief.

He flickers through space and time, and then crashes into the witcher as he materializes again. It's telling that the man catches him without a thought instead of letting Regis stumble to the pavement in a heap; his hands are rough and warm where they hold on to Regis' arms.

Regis exhales as the discomfort abates. The witcher is pale and sweaty, but his disquiet, too, is vanishing.

"The fuck?" he says, a bit helplessly. He doesn't let Regis go, but that is most likely due to the shock.

"I'm very sorry," Regis says. He realizes his hands have come to rest against the man's chest. He can feel his heartbeat, and his mind points out how slow it is compared to humans. "I tried to warn you. There is a magic tether in place. We won't be able to go too far from each other."

The witcher had been getting angry again, but right then resignation takes its place. He finally steps back, and Regis allows him the space. He knows the man can feel the magic as well as he does.

"This is just great," the man finally groans. He meets Regis' eye, and for the first time he looks more like a regular human; a bit tired, confused, and devilishly handsome. 

Regis mentally smacks himself. He is  _ not  _ going to make the witcher uncomfortable. He has morals, no matter what the lore about his kind says.

"Alright. Whatever," the witcher goes on. He nods his head to the direction Regis thinks his home is. "Let's just...go back. We need to figure out how we're gonna solve this."

Regis follows half a step behind him. He feels a bit awkward, being outside in broad daylight. This is already taking longer than his usual engagements, and something tells him it's not about to get any easier.

"My name is Regis," he says quietly after a while.

The witcher turns his head and frowns. "You have a name?" he blurts out, and then looks mortified. A smile tugs at Regis' lips.

"I do. It's much longer than that, too."

The witcher rolls his eyes at the horrible joke, but something like ease settles over him. They walk on in silence, and when they come back to his house, he stops. Regis regards him curiously, and then the witcher surprises him by extending his hand.

"Geralt." He is still gruff, but no longer angry. 

Regis shakes his hand and smiles.

 

**2.**

The presence of the incubus is...unsettling.

He doesn't insist on touching or being as close as possible, like he had just a few hours ago, but it is troubling nonetheless. Despite his apparent ability to be civil he is still a lust demon, and it doesn't take a genius to guess what he wants. Not that he'll get it.

The situation must be as unfortunate for him as it is for Geralt, since Geralt is probably the worst person he could have possibly been bound to. A witcher, and one with no interest in what an incubus' particular nature has to offer, at that.

At least that means he is just as invested as Geralt in finding a way to break the bindings, and for the past thirty minutes or so he has been sitting hunched over the same book that Geralt accidentally summoned him with. His tail keeps twitching every now and then, but Geralt doesn't know what to make of it; incubus body language isn't something his witcher training covered.

And speaking of movement, the intricate tattoos that wind down the incubus' arms don't seem to stay completely still. Instead they're slowly crawling across his skin in a way that is only noticeable if Geralt fixes his eyes on them for a few seconds longer than he wants to. He thought it was a trick of the light at first, but he's coming to understand that it's just another aspect of strange lust demon physiology.

"Find anything?" Geralt asks, trying to focus on the task at hand. He's getting impatient; the book he just looked through barely mentioned summonings at all.

The incubus—Regis, Geralt reminds himself, his name is Regis—looks up from the book, fixing those black eyes of his on Geralt. "I'm afraid not. The simplest solution is still very much on the table, however."

"No," Geralt objects, standing up. "It's not." He makes his way to the kitchen, leaving Regis behind. His head is aching and he realizes that this entire ordeal made him forget lunch.

Too tired for anything else, he reaches for a pack of noodles. He takes one for Regis too, because while he may not like this one bit, he's not gonna be an asshole and make Regis go without food. He hesitates then; he doesn't even know if an incubus needs food.

"Hey, Regis?" he calls, loud enough for it to carry into the other room.

Instead of an answer, Geralt hears the sound of wind and out of the corner of his eye he sees a greyish-blue mist. It quickly turns into Regis, who then comes to lean against the kitchen wall. "Yes?"

Geralt blinks, then clears his throat. He waves in the direction of the noodles. "Need to make food. Do you eat?"

A smile tugs at Regis' lips as his gaze drifts lower. "Of course," he says, finally meeting Geralt's eyes again.

Geralt's neck grows hot. "Oh, fuck off."

Regis does as he's told, turning into mist again and vanishing into the living room. Geralt shoves the extra pack of noodles back into the cabinet with a bit more force than necessary, and hears some of the noodles crunch and break. Great.

He cooks and eats in silence, the annoyance never really leaving him. The black marks around his wrist serve as a constant reminder of the mess he's landed himself in.

***

Geralt is just putting his bowl into the sink when his doorbell chimes.

He frowns for a second before he remembers that his friends were supposed to come over tonight. The unexpected arrival of Regis had completely made him forget.

He curses and hurries into the living room. 

"Come on, get up," he tells Regis. The incubus looks a bit confused but does stand up, still holding on to the leather-bound tome. Without letting himself think too much, Geralt grabs him by the arm and ushers him towards his bedroom.

"Change of heart?" Regis asks, but sounds a bit too confused to come off as teasing.

"Forgot my friends were coming over," Geralt explains, not bothering to roll his eyes at the comment. "I'll tell them now's not a good time, just stay in here until they've left."

Regis scoffs. "Hiding me away like a dirty little secret? You're not so different as I thought."

The doorbell chimes again.

"Just don't wanna freak them out," Geralt says. "They're not witchers, they don't exactly deal with demons on a daily basis."

There's a knock on the front door next, followed by Dandelion's muffled voice. "Geralt, open up! It's freezing out here!"

Geralt realizes his hand is still on Regis' arm and lets it drop. "Please. Just stay in here," he begs, then closes the door before Regis can protest. He hurries over to the front door, just remembering to roll down his sleeves to cover the markings before his friends can see them.

Geralt opens the door and Dandelion walks inside before he can say anything. Milva, Cahir and Angoulême follow, the latter hurrying to close the door behind her as to keep out the evening chill.

"Wait," Geralt says, trying to get their attention. "Now isn't a great time. Forgot to call and tell you."

"What do you mean it isn't a great time?" Milva asks. "We always do this."

"I'm not feeling so good," he tries instead, but they all see right through him.

"Witchers don't get sick," Angoulême points out.

Dandelion crosses his arms. "Is something wrong?"

"He just doesn't want you to know about me."

His friends turn to look at the unfamiliar voice and Geralt winces. Of course Regis wouldn't do as he was told.

"Well, well," Angoulême says with a grin. "What's this?"

Geralt lets out a frustrated sigh. Why did he tried to hide Regis in his  _ bedroom _ of all places? "It's not what you think," he attempts.

"Uh-huh," Dandelion says, grinning almost as wide as Angoulême.

"Regis is...helping me with a contract," he tries instead.

"What kind of contract?" Cahir wonders.

It hits Geralt then that not one of his friends are freaking out over Regis' very obvious demonic nature. Finally, he too turns to look at Regis and he frowns in confusion.

There is no sign of Regis' restless tail, and where his horns sat just a minute ago there is now only smooth skin. He looks human.

Regis must know what goes through his head, because he gives him a smug little smile. "Geralt needs some help with a demonic ritual," he explains. It's technically not a lie. "I happen to be somewhat of an expert on the subject and offered my services."

"Well," Milva huffs, "I don't mind if you stay for drinks with us. The more the merrier, and all that."

Cahir nods. "Unless the contract is urgent."

"It's not urgent," Regis assures with a smile that looks surprisingly polite. "I would happily meet some of Geralt's friends."

Dandelion grins and pokes Geralt with his elbow. "Aren't you gonna introduce us?"

Geralt tries not to sigh as he accepts that he isn't getting out of this one. "Fine. Regis, this is Dandelion, Milva, Cahir and Angoulême. Guys, this is Regis."

***

Regis gets on with his friends almost better than Geralt does. Geralt would be annoyed, if he wasn't so relieved.

But then at some point during the evening he forgets himself and rolls up his sleeves a bit. He doesn't even think about it, at first. Not until Cahir speaks up.

"Since when do you have a tattoo?" he asks. And because he is an observant little shit, he looks to Regis right away and doesn't miss the matching markings on his wrist. "And why does it look like the one Regis has?"

Before Geralt can reply, Angoulême chimes in. "An old friend of mine had markings like that for a while. She got them when she summoned a demon for the laughs of it."

Geralt pushes his sleeves back down. "It's nothing."

"On the contrary," Regis says, searching for Geralt's gaze. "I'd say this means the cat is out of the bag?"

"Regis," Geralt warns, but he knows he has lost.

"What's going on here?" Dandelion asks, his voice guarded.

"There is no contract," Regis explains. "The demonic ritual we are trying to undo is the one Geralt accidentally used to summon me. I am an incubus." He drags his hands over his head, and as they move, they once more reveal his curved horns. His tail appears again from behind him, coming up to rest across his lap.

Milva, Cahir and Angoulême look at him with wide eyes and Dandelion lets out a frightened yelp before turning to Geralt. "Can't you kill it?"

Regis crosses his arms. " _ It _ is still sitting right here."

Geralt sighs, tired. So much for trying to keep this secret. "Don't need to kill him as he isn't hurting anybody. Just need to figure out a way to undo the binding so he can leave."

"And how do you do that?" Dandelion asks, his eyes darting back and forth between Geralt and Regis.

"There is the obvious and simple method," Regis explains. "Though Geralt is adamant on finding an alternative."

"What's the obvious method?" Dandelion wonders, frowning.

Regis just grins. "Sex."

Milva is sitting next to Geralt, and she puts her hand on his shoulder. He turns to look at her and is met with a sympathetic smile.

Dandelion chuckles mirthlessly. "Then, Regis, I'm afraid you're not leaving for quite a while."

***

Geralt's friends go home not long after that, the cheerful mood gone.

As Geralt is putting the dirty glasses into the dishwasher, he notices Regis watching him. The incubus stands with his arms crossed and with his tail coiled around one of his legs.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" Regis asks once Geralt looks up.

"Could ask you the same thing," Geralt points out. "Thought I told you to stay out of sight."

"You told me they wouldn't react well to a demon, so I made myself look human. It takes some effort to maintain, thank you for asking."

Geralt scoffs, but says nothing.

"So now," Regis continues, "please enlighten me. Humans sometimes get flustered when the topic of sex is brought up; that I'm used to. But your friends got almost...sad. What was that about?"

Regis looks confused, almost rejected. Geralt can't help but feel kind of bad for him, and he knows he owes him an explanation. Regis is as stuck with Geralt as Geralt is with him, after all. "It's about me," he says, sitting down and not meeting Regis' eyes. "I don't have sex and I don't want to. Pretty much ever."

"Why not?" Regis sounds curious, and just a little bit concerned. Geralt supposes that's natural for a lust demon.

He shrugs. "I just don't. Holds no appeal for me. Same way some people just aren't interested in men and some aren't interested in women, I guess."

"But you've had sex before," Regis points out, and Geralt jerks up to look at him. Regis has the decency to look apologetic. "I...can feel that you have. It's an innate ability, not something I actively tried to find out. I'm sorry."

The explanation calms him down a little. "Eventually, when I really care about someone, the attraction will come and I'll want to sleep with them. But it's been a while since that happened."

"Do you enjoy it then?" Regis asks. "When you care about someone?"

Geralt chuckles. "Yeah. Of course I do." He turns is wrist around to look at the jagged symbols. "Don't see how that helps us though."

There is a flash of that greyish-blue mist again, and suddenly Regis' hand is wrapped around his wrist, thumb brushing across the fresh lines. Geralt stiffens. Did Regis not hear a word of what he just said?

"We'll find another way," Regis promises. "Thank you for telling me. It is easier now that I understand. And I swear on this bond of ours that I will never touch you in a way you do not desire."

Regis' touch instantly becomes a bit warmer and Geralt feels himself relax. He knows, somewhere within himself, that Regis means it.

"Thanks," he says with a smile. "Just don't do anything inappropriate and we're good."

"An incubus who doesn't do anything inappropriate," Regis muses. "Well, I suppose someone has to be the first."

 

**3.**

 

After the discussion their forced coexistence becomes easier; Geralt no longer flinches away if they happen to brush against each other, and Regis doesn't have to spend every moment trying to play human. After a day or two, Geralt stops rolling his eyes when Regis mists his way across any distance greater than three steps, or when Regis' tail insists on resting on his shoulder while they do research.

Human lore about lust demons has the crucial points covered, Regis discovers. They draw life power from sex, each in their own way, and summoning one doesn't condemn a human's soul to a one-way trip to hell. He rifles through every book Geralt has on his species, and takes great pleasure in pointing out the bits humans got wrong. There are plenty.

"Whoever wrote this book has some deep-seated issues with intimacy," Regis remarks one evening. They're working in Geralt's living room, sitting side by side on the sofa; the witcher isn't consciously aware of it, but he is more at ease the closer they are to each other.

"Meaning?" Geralt huffs, not looking up from a heavy book he has open on his lap. The pointed tip of Regis' tail pokes him gently to the side of the head, and he lifts his gaze with an exasperated look.

Regis flips the book around and points his finger to the offending paragraph.

"‘Lust demons tend to focus on the basest form of coitus when they appear, and their kind does not understand the noble concept of intimacy humans value,'" Regis recites in a mocking, high-pitched tone. "What rubbish. Any incubus or succubus worth their salt can tell you as much." His tail twitches, and Geralt grabs it gently to avoid getting poked in the eye.

"So you've been saying," the witcher says with a tired laugh. "But as far as I know, that's not very relevant to our current issue." His fingers open, but instead of letting go of the tail right away, they brush along it before returning to turning the pages of his book.

Regis swallows and nods, but suddenly he can't find words. Their touches have been small and mostly accidental thus far; this is the first time Geralt has willingly touched him, and it feels unexpectedly good. Regis knows it's because they are bound together, but that is the core of the problem: the sole reason he is here is to please Geralt, but the only way he knows is impossible. 

***

Regis expects to be bored out of his skull by the end of the first week, but the witcher surprises him. Since the magical tether doesn't allow them to stray too far from each other, Regis is forced to accompany the witcher when he works. He isn't entirely clear on how Geralt gets the contracts, but he is intrigued by his profession nonetheless. The world of humans is mostly new to him, and with Geralt he gets to see more of it than before.

He could do without ever encountering rotfiends again, but tonight they are hunting a nightwraith, and Regis feels excitement bubble inside him. There are only so many books about lust demons in Geralt's chaotically disorganized bookshelf, so Regis has been amusing himself by researching whatever monster Geralt says they will go and hunt on any given day. 

"Is it true that nightwraiths force mortals to dance with them?" Regis whispers. They are hiding behind a ruin of a house, peering into the moonlit meadow that stretches all the way to the small lake. Geralt had insisted on parking his motorcycle much further away, and they had made the walk to the haunted place in silence.

Geralt frowns. "Not really. Mostly they just shriek and try to slash you." He adjusts the silver sword he has strapped across his back. Regis can smell the shimmering oil the witcher had coated the blade with; the pungent odor of bear fat and the lighter aroma of arenaria flowers mix with the smell of rotting wood that dominates their current hiding place.

"But the lore says—" Regis goes on, but Geralt's hand shoots out and covers his mouth.

"Shut up, will you?" he grunts, not maliciously. "I'm trying to focus."

Regis pushes the hand away with a faint huff, but then he sees something glimmer out on the meadow, and the witcher draws in a breath.

The nightwraith swirls into existence almost gracefully. It floats over the withered grass and frozen stalks of flowers without a sound. Moonlight passes right through it, and Regis loses himself watching it as it drifts this way and that. It looks like an emaciated woman, dressed in a tattered black dress.

Geralt's hand gently removes Regis' tail from where it has coiled around his wrist.

"Stay here. This won't take long." He is gone before Regis can utter a word.

The witcher doesn't say anything as he stalks towards the wraith, and Regis holds his breath. Geralt told him wraiths aren't to be trifled with, but they're what witchers consider an easy job. Regardless, Regis discovers that he is capable of worrying, as a new sort of tightness settles into his gut. None of the monsters he has seen Geralt hunt thus far have been this ominous.

Geralt draws his sword just as the wraith spots him. It gives a screech, spreading its arms in threat, and Regis sees the long claws. Geralt twirls the sword as he reaches for a bomb in his belt.

The wraith attacks before he can get the bomb out, and Geralt dodges; he rolls out of the way, and Regis' eyes follow him as he throws the bomb. Silver dust and shards explode, and the wraith screams in fury and pain. When Regis spies it again, he is surprised to see that it has become corporeal.

Geralt attacks, and his silver sword cuts pale arcs into the still night air as he drives the spectre back. Regis watches, mesmerized, admiring the effortless way the witcher moves. There is nothing superfluous about him; every strike and lunge seem calculated and graceful, and Regis knows he is privileged to witness this.

A longing grips him as he watches; he wants to touch. Regis swallows as the need registers; he knows he won't reach out to Geralt when the man doesn't want him to, but he has to acknowledge it nonetheless. He wants.

He is lost in thought, so when the wraith suddenly flickers out of sight, Regis hears Geralt's warning shout too late. His head snaps up, and the wraith surges through the wall, howling its fury and claws slashing. Regis makes to avoid the attack, but before he can move, Geralt throws himself between them.

Regis hears a pained grunt as the wraith's claws hit the witcher, and the next thing he sees is the silver sword burying itself into its chest. The wraith screams as it is engulfed in green flames, its voice echoing long after nothing but a pile of glittering dust remains.

Geralt pants as he lowers the sword and turns towards Regis.

"Are you okay?" he asks. His free hand grips Regis by the wrist: not hard, but demanding.

Regis reaches back without thinking. His hands land on Geralt's arm, which is bleeding heavily, and apply pressure. His tail doesn't find anything useful to do, so it settles around the back of Geralt's neck, right where his armor meets skin.

"You're hurt," Regis says. His hands are slick with blood and he tries to think fast. "Where are your medical supplies?"

Geralt growls. "Are you deaf? I asked if you're okay."

Regis looks up. "I can turn into mist. You didn't need to get hurt on my account." He hears how angry his voice sounds, and forces himself to exhale and let go of the tension. "Do you have bandages?"

Geralt stares. Then his shoulders sag and he swears.

"Fucking hell. I thought— I forgot you can move like that."

Regis nods. His tail is still cupping Geralt's head, the tip barely brushing against his neck.

"Now, the bandages?" he asks, mostly to remind the witcher he is bleeding out as they discuss their relative corporeal limitations. Geralt sighs and sheathes his sword. His hand reaches into a pouch on his belt and pulls out a wad of gauze and a single bandage.

Regis glares at him. "This is all you have?"

Geralt glowers right back. "I didn't expect I'd need a full first aid kit. It was just a simple wraith, and if you hadn't—" He falls silent as he catches his words. His eyes fall to the ground.

Regis sighs. He doesn't wait for an answer as he tugs the ruined leather gauntlet off, and proceeds to dress the wound. It's deep, but not as long as he feared, and once he is done he quickly backs away. His tail is twitching again, and he tries to calm it.

The walk back to the motorcycle is long, and a tense silence hangs between them. Regis, contrary to his usual habit, opts to staying corporeal until Geralt mounts the bike without a word. With a kick it roars to life, and Regis shifts into mist and follows. His mind feels heavy.

When they reach Geralt's small house, it's almost two in the morning. Regis feels tired, but he tries to hide the fact that flying in his mist form is exhausting. Geralt is sufficiently pissed off already, and as much as Regis wants to point out he caused the mess they're in, he refrains from saying anything.

Geralt walks up the steps and unlocks the door, but then he halts in the foyer and turns to face Regis. The lights are off, and Regis sees his tapetum lucidum flash in the darkness as he pulls the door closed behind himself.

"I could always just banish you," Geralt says quietly.

Regis freezes with his hand on the door handle. Fear carves everything hollow in seconds. His heart speeds up, until its beat is almost deafening, and a cold sweat breaks out. He knows his panic is written on his face clear as day.

Banishing means perdition. Death, but eternal. It has absolutely nothing to do with him going back to his own dimension after completing the terms of a summoning.

"No," he whispers, barely audible. "Please—don't."

Geralt's eyes go wide as he sees Regis' expression, and before he can do much more than draw in a panicked breath, Geralt is in his space and cupping his face.

"Hey, hey," he whispers. "Calm down. I won't, I swear I won't, that was stupid of me."

Regis realizes he is  _ shaking _ , and his hands are clinging on to Geralt's arms. The witcher looks like he wants to kick himself, but his hands remain gentle where they hold on to him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he says. His eyes look pained. "I know what banishing would mean for you. I'm sorry."

Regis exhales as the fear starts to yield. Sensible thought returns, and Geralt's eyes sweep over his face. He looks worried and ashamed.

"I shouldn't have taken that out on you, back there." His hands fall away, but he doesn't step back. "You were right. I was careless."

Regis slowly reaches his tail to push Geralt's face back up. When their eyes meet, he smiles.

"Let me patch you up now, then. No harm done."

Geralt's bathroom is small and brightly lit. After everything, it is grounding to sit on a small stool as Geralt perches on the toilet. The smell of disinfectant is familiar by now, and as Regis wraps gauze around the wound he begins to feel better. His knee is pressing against Geralt's but the witcher isn't voicing complaints.

"Why do you do that?"

Geralt's voice is curious, but when Regis looks up he realizes his tail is once more nesting at the crook of his neck. He feels a blush coming even as he yanks his tail away and coils it around his ankle.

He  _ can  _ control it. When he is preoccupied it's just very easy to forget about it, but he promised he wouldn't do anything inappropriate.

"Apologies," Regis mutters. He finishes the dressing and stands up. "I didn't mean to."

He turns to mist and escapes into the living room, where he buries his nose into one of the books. He doesn't remember a thing he reads, but he distantly hears the shower run, and then Geralt pads to his bedroom.

Regis is surprised when the witcher returns a moment later and sits down next to him, dressed in sweats and a soft t-shirt. He risks a glance, and Geralt offers him a smile.

"It's okay." His voice is careful, but there is no anger in him. He is sitting close, not quite touching. "I'm sorry I lashed out. And I promise I won't banish you."

Regis blinks. Then he finally manages a smile of his own. "It's quite alright. I'm sorry I've been touching you."

He had sworn he wouldn't do anything Geralt doesn't want, but there had been no protests, and Regis can't help what he is; touching is what keeps him whole.

Before he works himself deeper into the pit of shame, Geralt's hand reaches out and covers his. It's warm and callused, and the contact immediately calms him down. Regis looks up, and he knows his mouth is hanging open.

"This isn't working out so badly, eh?" Geralt asks. He looks embarrassed, but Regis can't sense any discomfort from him. "It feels—nice when you touch, like you have been doing."

"You asked me not to," Regis reminds him. Geralt shrugs and heaves a sigh.

"It's fine. What's the harm?"

Regis watches him closely, but Geralt just stares back, still a little embarrassed but mostly calm. Very slowly, Regis allows his tail to reach out, and Geralt actually smiles when it brushes his shoulder.

"I'm beginning to suspect that thing has a will of its own, anyway."

Regis laughs. The agitation starts to ease. He winds his fingers among Geralt's and settles into the sofa.

"You did well against the wraith," he says after a comfortable silence. "You're very graceful."

Geralt scoffs, but Regis sees a familiar redness appear around his ears again, and he bites back a pleased smile.

 

**4.**   


Geralt wakes up to the sound of voices. They're faint, but definitely coming from inside his house. He closes his eyes again and focuses his ears.

One of the voices he quickly recognizes as belonging to Regis; it has become so familiar to him by now that he suspects he would know it anywhere.

The other voice is new. It's smooth and female, melodious with just a hint of a lisp.

"—almost two weeks, Regis," the stranger says. "We all miss you."

"I'll come home. As soon as we find a way to break the pact," Regis explains, patient.

"Break it? Why not just fulfill it?"

Regis sighs. "It's—complicated. The details are not for me to divulge, but I can assure you that there is nothing in my usual repertoire that would suffice this time."

"Oh, come now," the woman scoffs. "Have you tried—"

"He doesn't want me to," Regis interrupts. "And you know as well as I do that there will be no satisfaction if it isn't done willingly."

"So make him want it." The woman sounds a bit frustrated. "Tease him, seduce him, whatever. You ought to know him well enough by now to have learned what will work best."

"No. Now can we please talk about something else?" Regis' voice is firm, and Geralt can't help the surge of gratitude he feels. Who would have thought that a lust demon would have more decency than most humans? He smiles to himself and absentmindedly brushes his fingers over the markings that bind him to Regis, before he gets out of bed.

***

After using the bathroom and getting dressed, Geralt can still hear Regis and the woman talking. Curiosity gets the better of him and he crosses the living room to knock at the door to the guest room, where Regis has been sleeping.

"Got company in there?" he asks.

The door opens a bit, seemingly on its own.

Regis sits cross-legged on the bed, his tail twitching where it's wrapped around his forearm. He doesn't look entirely comfortable. "Good morning, Geralt. This is Orianna, a friend."

Geralt pushes the door open the rest of the way, revealing a woman sitting on the bed as well. Much like Regis, she has curved horns protruding from her head, and a tail resting in her lap. Though unlike him, she is entirely naked.

"So this is him," she says, not hiding the way she looks Geralt up and down. She licks her lips and Geralt can see her tongue is forked in two.

"Orianna—" Regis warns, but she has already misted her way into Geralt's space.

Geralt clenches his jaw, trying to seem unphased by her proximity. "Pleased to meet you," he manages.

Orianna doesn't touch him, but her eyes are so intense she might as well have. "Hm. You're handsome, witcher, I'll give you that," she tells him. "But I do wish you wouldn't insist on keeping Regis captive like this. It's unkind."

"Go home," Regis says before Geralt can reply. "I appreciate your concern, but you really aren't helping right now."

In a swirl of mist, Orianna comes to sit in front of Regis, clutching his hand. "He is hurting you."

Regis looks at Geralt for a second, then meets Orianna's eyes. "He is not. Now will you please leave?"

Orianna's shoulders sag and she shakes her head. "Oh, Regis. I hope you know what you're doing." She vanishes then, leaving no trace behind.

"She gone?" Geralt asks after a moment.

"Yes," Regis sighs. Geralt expects him to move closer, but he stays where he is. His tail twitches restlessly. "My sincerest apologies for how she behaved. She had no right to."

"It's okay," Geralt assures. "Can't say I liked her, but no harm done." He doesn't like how uncomfortable Regis looks, and the need to do something about it pulls him to sit down next to him. He covers Regis' hand with his own, and feels Regis' tail settle across his shoulders almost right away.

"There was no truth to her words," Regis tells him, turning his hand over to intertwine their fingers. "You are not keeping me captive and you are not hurting me."

"You sure? 'Cause you can't leave. Sounds a lot like being captive to me," Geralt says, the words bitter in his mouth. Regis has been acting so at ease lately that Geralt has begun to forget the fact that he is forced to be here.

"It's not the same."

"And what about me hurting you, huh? What'd she mean?"

Regis sighs. "You know what I live on. Orianna believes that since we are not having sex, I am starving."

Geralt tenses, worry gnawing at him from inside. "Are you?"

"No." Regis shakes his head, and he looks a bit astonished. "I should be, but I'm not. This—" He squeezes Geralt's hand and tightens the hold of his tail for a moment. "—appears to be enough."

"Happy to help," Geralt tells him, and he means it. Staying close to Regis keeps being so much more comfortable than he expected it to be, and he actually enjoys it. 

He intends to say something more, but is interrupted by his own grumbling stomach. "Sorry," he chuckles. "Touching might be enough for you, but this human needs breakfast."

They let go of each other and Geralt climbs off the bed, walking out towards the kitchen. As he walks, Regis flies past him in his incorporeal form, the mist brushing against Geralt's arm in the process. It tingles a bit.

When Geralt comes into the kitchen, Regis is already sitting on the counter. "I have been thinking," he says, his black eyes following Geralt as he loads his coffee maker. "You humans have such a vast variety of foods, and yet after being summoned to your plane over and over again for more than four hundred years, I still haven't tried any of it. I have to admit I'm curious."

Geralt shrugs and turns to open the fridge. Regis materializes next to him, peering over his shoulder and coiling his tail around Geralt's shin.

"You can try whatever," Geralt tells him. "What do you feel like?"

Regis' brows knit together in a way that is almost cute. "I was under the impression that food needs to be...prepared?"

For all of Regis' knowledge and this is what he knows nothing about? Geralt finds it oddly charming. "Usually, yeah, but some stuff you eat cold," he explains.

Regis' tail twitches and tightens a little around his leg, but he doesn't say anything. The tiny frown is still in place.

"You want me to cook for you?" Geralt guesses. It's an amusing thought.

"Only if you're already doing it for yourself."

"Sure, why not," Geralt says with a grin. "Been a while since I made pancakes anyway."

Regis mists back onto the counter and watches intently as Geralt takes out all the ingredients. He doesn't even seem aware that he's wrapping his tail around Geralt's arm.

Geralt prods it gently. "Hey. Gonna need my hands."

"Sorry." Regis pulls his tail loose, then lets it settle around the back of Geralt's neck instead. It really should be weird, but it isn't.

"Can I ask why your friend showed up?" Geralt wonders as he starts to mix the batter.

"She was starting to question my absence," Regis explains. "Now that she knows I'm alive and her curiosity has been sated, I doubt she will visit again. It takes some effort, when you have not been summoned."

"Didn't seem too happy with me."

"No. But as I told you, what she said wasn't true. What are you doing?"

"Dropped a piece of eggshell. Need to fish it out."

"I see." Regis is silent for a moment, then sighs. "I also apologize for Orianna's nakedness. I know it makes you uncomfortable."

"It's fine. Woulda mostly bothered me if she'd stayed." Geralt shrugs and pauses for a second. "What's with the forked tongue, though? That a succubus thing?"

Regis grins. "Succubus and incubus, actually, and widely appreciated. It makes talking a bit more difficult, however, which is why I changed mine long ago."

Geralt frowns and looks down into the bowl. The information is new and unexpected. "You can just change like that?"

"Not without time or effort, but yes, we can alter some things permanently," Regis confirms.

Geralt shakes his head and goes to fetch a frying pan. When he places it on the stove he hears the telltale whooshing of mist and then Regis is standing close behind him again to watch the pan, once more coiling his tail around Geralt's shin.

"Really find it that fascinating, huh?" Geralt asks as he puts some butter into the pan, watching it melt and sizzle.

"I like learning about new things," Regis simply tells him, wrapping his arms around Geralt's middle and resting his chin on his shoulder.

Geralt tenses. This is a level of intimacy they haven't been to before, and he is suddenly acutely aware of every part of his body that Regis is touching. It takes him a moment to realize that the awareness isn't unpleasant.

Regis seems to notice his reaction and begins to pull away. Before he can do so, Geralt puts his hand on Regis' arms, holding them in place as he relaxes into the embrace.

"Don't," Geralt murmurs. "It's nice."

For once, Regis doesn't say anything, just lets out a content little sigh and hugs him closer.

If someone had told Geralt two weeks ago that he'd be frying pancakes while being hugged by an incubus, he would have laughed in their face. Yet here he is, and he is actually enjoying himself. Because as strange as it is may be, he trusts Regis.

Sure, this could very well be one of the ways Orianna suggested Regis go about charming him, but Geralt can somehow tell it's not Regis' intention to do so. He has been nothing but understanding and respectful, even if he doesn't always seem to be in control of what his tail is doing. The latter is kind of endearing, actually.

Letting his mind drift, Geralt strokes his fingers over Regis' bare forearm. He always wears his sleeves rolled up, showing off the ever-shifting patterns and designs that decorate his skin: the pact markings circle their way around his right wrist, and above them a trail of intricate runes and lines spiral up along his forearm. In contrast, his left arm is covered in vines of leaves and flowers, climbing and intertwining across his skin. Not for the first time, Geralt wonders what Regis' other tattoos look like; he saw them briefly when Regis first arrived, but he can't remember what they look like. They're probably just as pretty, he assumes, poking at one of the flowers. Its petals shift a little from his touch.

Before Geralt knows it, all the pancakes have been fried. Regis makes no move to let him go though, not until Geralt taps at his hand.

"Hey," he says gently, "Didn't you wanna eat?"

"Hm? Oh." Regis lifts his chin from Geralt's shoulder and unwraps his arms and tail.

Geralt sets the table, for both of them this time, and even pours some coffee for Regis to try. He hands him the steaming mug, curious to see what he will think. "Careful," he says. "It's hot and kinda bitter."

Regis takes a hesitant sip, and the face he makes is enough to make Geralt laugh.

"You drink this willingly?"

"Yup."

"Humans are strange," Regis decides, setting the mug aside. "I think I'll pass."

"Promise the pancakes are better," Geralt assures as they sit down. He feels Regis' tail wrap around his thigh right away, and he's seriously starting to wonder if there isn't some demonic gravitation at work, given how it always seems to seek him out.

Regis huffs. "I certainly hope so. For your sake, at least, since you need it to live." He prods at the corner of a pancake with his fork for a moment, before tearing a piece off and putting it in his mouth. He chews it slowly, then swallows.

"What's the verdict?" Geralt asks.

"I think," Regis says slowly, poking at the pancake again, "that I will have to ask you to do this again sometime."

A fond smile settles on Geralt's lips. "I'd be happy to."

 

**5.**   


Time passes in odd chunks. Before Regis knows it, he has been staying with Geralt for well over a month. It would be disconcerting if it wasn't so comfortable. Daily life with a witcher is irregular enough to keep him intrigued, and while he misses sex, he is coming to see that the increasingly casual intimacy he shares with Geralt is something he will miss once he goes back to his own dimension.

Regis is lounging on the sofa, leaning against Geralt on a normal Saturday afternoon. The television is on, but neither of them is paying it much attention; Geralt is trying to sort through some old maps, and Regis is reading a science fiction novel he fished out from the bookshelf in the guest bedroom. Geralt had looked at the book with a fond smile, and when Regis asked, he explained it was a favorite of his daughter's.

A cautious touch at the base of his horn jolts Regis back to reality. He looks up from his slumped position, and Geralt meets his eye with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry."

"It's quite alright," Regis says. He closes the book, holding his finger between the pages. "It's just sensitive."

Geralt hesitates, and then his fingers brush against the skin again. Regis closes his eyes and focuses on the caress. Something soft blooms inside his chest, because while they often lean on each other or hold hands, the instances of Geralt reaching out to touch him simply because he wants to are still few and far between.

"Is this bit sensitive too?" Geralt asks. His finger trails along the curve of his horn.

"Mm, not exactly, no," Regis murmurs. It's been a while since he was last touched so gently, and he enjoys it immensely. "People usually like to grab the horns," he adds with a lazy grin.

"Figures," Geralt laughs. His fingers return to massage Regis' scalp. They're silent for a long while, and Regis is almost dozing when Geralt speaks again.

"Listen, Cahir texted and told he's having a movie night. Wanna go?"

Regis has gotten to know Geralt's friends better, and he is growing fond of them. Geralt doesn't have a choice but to drag Regis along whenever he wants to meet up with them, but after the first awkward meeting the humans have started to treat Regis as an acceptable addition.

"I'd like that," Regis tells Geralt. When he opens his eyes, Geralt is smiling at him. Regis blinks and forgets to look away. He really likes the cat eyes and the white hair, as much as they unnerve normal humans. Regis can't understand why people treat witchers so badly; they were created to protect humans, after all.

"Anyone home?" Geralt asks, and Regis surfaces from his thoughts.

"Ah, yes," he says. "I was thinking."

"About?" Geralt extracts himself from the pile they have made. Regis entertains the thought of telling Geralt how handsome he is, but decides against it; he doesn't want to spoil the mood.

"Nothing of great importance," Regis shrugs and smiles. "When are we leaving?"

Geralt glances at the clock. "I'm gonna take a shower. Need to shave too."

Regis moves before he registers it, and then he is standing in Geralt's space. The witcher blinks but doesn't flinch or back away, and without thinking, Regis reaches his hand to brush against his chin.

"I like the beard," he says.

Geralt doesn't exactly blush, but Regis sees right away he has overstepped. He backs away and uncoils his tail from around Geralt's arm.

"Ah. Sorry," he says. "I didn't think." Regis looks down. It's natural for him to touch, but with Geralt he has come to verbalize his appreciation even more than before, and it often catches the witcher off-guard.

Appreciating Geralt is just so  _ easy _ , and Regis wants to make him feel good. It's an odd need that doesn't quite fall into the spectrum of the summoning pact, not since their circumstances are so unusual.

Geralt catches him before he gets too far away. His hands sneak their way around Regis and hold on, steady and warm.

"It's alright. You just surprised me," Geralt says with an amused smile. "I'm not fragile."

Regis meets his gaze, hands resting against Geralt's chest and tail already back in its place behind his neck, right where his shirt collar meets skin. Being held like this is new, and Regis likes it. With a sigh, he rests his head on Geralt's shoulder.

"No, I suppose you're not," he says.

Geralt leans his head against his, and for a long while they stay there, enjoying the closeness. Then he lets go and steps back.

"Alright, the beard can stay," he says with a grin.

***

"Do you want to ride behind me?" Geralt asks when they step out an hour later. The air is cold and daylight is just starting to fade. Regis isn't bothered by the frigid weather, but he has experimented with the magic and conjured proper clothing for himself.

He looks at the motorcycle. He knows the way to Cahir's home, and just then the thought of flying that far doesn't appeal to him.

"If you don't mind?" Regis asks. "I can fly, but it takes much more energy."

Geralt frowns. "You haven't said anything."

Regis shrugs. "It's not a problem."

Geralt takes his hand and squeezes. He's so at ease with gestures like this already, and Regis automatically steps closer.

"You should tell me stuff like that," Geralt says. "You're stuck with me."

Regis chuckles. "Do you feel responsible?"

"Yeah, I do," Geralt says, and Regis' smile falls; it's so simple, but the implications feel huge to him just then. He stays quiet so long that Geralt starts to laugh.

"So that's how I get you to shut up? I'll keep that in mind." He climbs on top of the motorcycle and eases it off the stand. Regis figures that misting is probably inadvisable in this case, and carefully climbs behind Geralt.

"Alright, hold me around the middle, and don't stick your leg into the exhaust pipe, it gets hot." Geralt jams his helmet on and kicks the bike into life. Regis likes the deep growl of the engine, but right then Geralt's leg bounces as he shifts a gear, and Regis wraps his arms around him without thinking. The bike lurches off the parking spot, and they rumble down the road.

Regis hasn't been entirely clear what makes Geralt ride a motorbike instead of a car, but when they reach the highway and the witcher sees the road is dry, the bike suddenly roars under them, and Regis finds himself holding on tighter.

It's almost like flying, he thinks, but even better. Geralt is warm against his chest, and the bike adds another layer of excitement to it all with the loud noise and the steady thrum of the engine. Regis smells Geralt, his familiar soap and shampoo, the grease of the engine, the cold air, and he feels the same need he has been feeling so often lately. He wants to touch.

Except they are touching; Regis' head is buried into Geralt's shoulder and his arms are holding tight around his waist. It's just nowhere near enough. Regis gets lost in the whirl of confusing feelings as they speed along the highway; he knows he'd rather cut off his own hand than touch Geralt against his will, but he longs for the witcher to ask for all the rest. Regis wants to make him smile that soft smile he sometimes throws in his direction, but always.

They reach Cahir's apartment, and Regis is almost glad to let go for a while. He feels oddly flustered, and Geralt taking his hand with no hesitation as they climb the stairs doesn't help.

Cahir opens the door and grins. "Hey, man. You brought your lust demon as well."

Geralt rolls his eyes and shoves the bag of chips into Cahir's face.

"Ha ha. You're a real comedian."

"Someone has to be. Hi, Regis. Good to see you."

"Likewise," Regis smiles as he steps inside. He likes Cahir. The young man is polite, and Geralt's way of treating him like a younger brother is endearing.

The rest of the usual group is already present. Angoulême whoops and waves when she spies Regis, Milva gives him a smile and a nod, and Dandelion grins.

"Still here, then?" the musician asks.

Regis shrugs. "Geralt is an exceptional cook. I decided to keep him." The humans laugh, and Geralt nudges Regis further along the sofa to make room for himself. He doesn't look offended, and Regis doesn't resist the temptation of pressing against his side. 

Geralt's friends often needle him, but it's never malicious, and they're yet to make even one nasty comment about their situation. Regis senses Milva watching him closely every time he touches Geralt, but since the witcher is usually the one initiating the contact, the stern woman doesn't look like she will go after Regis with Geralt's silver sword.

Cahir steps into the kitchen and returns with bottles of beer. He distributes them around and launches into an explanation about the movie they're going to watch. Regis allows the voices to ebb and flow around him, focusing on how nice this is; he has friends and family back home, but being here, accepted as one of the group is different, somehow. He lets out a sigh, and Geralt wraps his arm around him right when Cahir dims the lights.

"Okay?" he asks. Regis rests his head on his shoulder and slips his tail around his thigh.

"Quite," he whispers, so low no one else can hear.

The movie is interesting. Regis gets caught up on the plot and forgets his drink. Angoulême and Dandelion keep an on-going commentary throughout the movie, but when the story turns sad they fall silent. Regis shifts a little closer, and carefully puts his hand on Geralt's knee.

When Geralt's fingers return to the base of his horns, he doesn't flinch. Instead a profound warmth floods him, because the melancholy music and the dark living room make him feel a bit off. Geralt's fingers rub circles around the horns, and Regis relaxes against him.

Geralt is solid and so, so warm. He smells good, and without thinking Regis presses his nose into his neck and inhales. It's soft, but Geralt shivers slightly. His arm around Regis tightens, but his fingers never stop moving. Regis keeps his nose pressed against the slow rhythm of Geralt's pulse, and he dreams of kissing it; the rest of the room grows hazy, and the movie slips his attention as he allows his mind to drift. 

When Cahir turns the lights on, Regis blinks. He had almost fallen asleep there. He expects Geralt to pull away, but the witcher just smiles at him, loose and happy. Regis decides that he'll enjoy the embrace as long as he's allowed to, and as the others argue about the movie, he relaxes again.

Suddenly Regis feels Geralt press his nose into his hair. A shiver runs down his spine.

"You always smell like cinnamon," he murmurs. "Why's that?" Regis feels his lips move, and he swallows.

"I, ah. I don't know," he gets out. Geralt deposits his empty bottle on the floor and his free hand starts stroking Regis' arm.

"It's nice," Geralt says quietly.

Regis tries to guess how many beers Geralt has had, but the witcher doesn't seem inebriated; merely softer around the edges. He holds Regis so easily, like he is exactly where he wants to be, and not stuck sharing his time and space with an incubus he summoned by accident.

"Sorry, I gotta use the bathroom," Geralt sighs a bit later. He carefully uncoils Regis' tail from around his thigh and gives his shoulder a squeeze before disappearing into the bathroom.

Regis turns his head to see Milva watching him with a thoughtful expression. He blinks, and starts feeling vaguely guilty. Angoulême and Dandelion have fallen asleep, but Cahir is awake and watching Regis and Milva with interest.

"How's it working out?" Milva asks. Her cheeks are red, but the words are crisp and accurate.

"What do you mean?" Regis winds his tail around his ankle to stop it from giving away his nerves.

Milva nods her head towards the bathroom. "Geralt's very comfy with you. That your doing?"

Regis opens his mouth to protest, but Cahir snorts.

"Come on. Do you think Geralt would allow an incubus to seduce him against his will?" The man looks cheerful. "I think he's just trying to make the most of it while he figures out how to break the pact."

Regis looks down and frowns. Now that he thinks of it, Geralt hasn't been as pedantic with the research for the past week or so.

"However it may be, I wanna say something," Milva goes on, and her voice drops so low even Regis has trouble hearing. He meets her gaze warily.

"If you hurt him, I'll personally come and cut off your tail with rusty scissors," she says. It's not malicious, but the meaning is very clear. She cares about Geralt, the same way Regis cares about his friends.

"I'd never—" Regis breathes, but then Geralt returns. He looks around the room and frowns.

"What're you whispering?"

"Nothin'," Milva says with a shrug. She smiles at Regis, a bit tired but mostly amused.

Geralt's hand lands on Regis' shoulder, thumb just brushing against bare skin.

"We should get going."

"You're not driving," Cahir says nonchalantly. He digs Geralt's motorcycle keys from his pocket and grins when the witcher swears. There's no heat in it, and Regis feels a rush of relief; he'd been distantly worried whether Geralt was in driving condition.

They get a cab, and Geralt pulls Regis against himself in the darkness of the backseat. Regis feels his fingers in his hair again, and since he has hidden his horns, they just stroke slowly. Regis sighs and shifts a little, and then he almost freezes; Geralt's breath is ghosting over his face.

The cab driver announces they're at their destination right then, and Regis steps out of the car into the cold night air as Geralt pays. His heart is beating faster, because—

Because what? What is he so nervous about?

Inside it's warm and dark. Regis has no trouble seeing so he doesn't bother with the light, but when he turns towards the guest bedroom Geralt catches his hand.

Regis stops and waits. He hears Geralt's steady heartbeat in the darkness, and the familiar environment does nothing to ease the tight knot inside Regis' chest. There's a certain kind of slackness to the witcher's posture, most likely brought on by the alcohol.

"Would you mind sleeping with me?" Geralt asks. He winces at the words. "Just, you know, sleeping?"

"Why?" Regis asks. He tries to keep his voice light.

He wants to. He can sleep in the guest bedroom, but it's too far away from Geralt. Regis has spent many nights tossing and turning, wishing for a warm body to curl around, but the conflict about Geralt not wanting him that close has prevented Regis from even thinking about asking for it.

Geralt purses his lips, and then he moves. It's faster than Regis expects in his sleepy, drunken state. His arms wrap around Regis, secure and comforting, and he presses their foreheads together.

"Being close to you is nice," Geralt says quietly. His eyes are guarded, but he stays still.

Maybe it really is that simple, Regis thinks. Geralt likes being close to him. And Regis likes it too, because in all his years he hasn't had a pact like this one, and it's throwing every rule he's ever had out of the window. 

"Sleeping together would be nice," Regis says. He tucks a strand of white hair behind Geralt's ear, and the man leans into the touch.

Regis has seen his bedroom before, but in the dim glow of a desk lamp it looks different; a wide, comfy bed, a dresser, all in shades of grey, green, and stained wood. It's a room for comfort, and Regis struggles to believe he has indeed been invited in. He had come to think of the bedroom as Geralt's safe space, where he wouldn't ever again set foot.

Geralt starts to strip, but his hands still on the hem of his t-shirt. Regis, who has been mimicking the human way of undressing, stills and watches him in question.

"I can go if you want," Regis says, careful. He's expecting Geralt to revoke the invitation.

"No, it's not that," Geralt mutters. His fingers toy with the fabric. "I'm just—there's something I didn't mention earlier, about myself."

Regis blinks, and then it connects. He steps closer, so slowly Geralt has ample time to indicate if he's not comfortable. When he's so close as to touch, his tail curls along Geralt's jawline.

"Do you mean your anatomy?" Regis asks with a smile. "Believe me, I don't find it the least bit odd."

He'd smelled it, sensed it right away, just as he had known myriad other inconsequential things about his summoner. Geralt was far from the first transgender human Regis had met.

"No?" Geralt smiles, too, but the relief in it makes Regis want to hit every person who has ever made the witcher feel less than perfect. 

"I swear it on our bond," Regis says quietly. Without thinking, his hands reach out to help Geralt out of his shirt, and then he presses closer. The touch of skin on skin feels electric, and Geralt exhales against Regis' cheek as their arms come to hold each other. Regis listens to the heartbeat he's memorized, and tries to will his own erratic pulse under control.

Settling into the bed should be easy, but Regis feels awkward as he snuggles under the blankets. This should be his domain, but instead of certain and mischievous, he's shy to reach out. Sharing a bed with Geralt feels enormous, because even when it's just for sleep, it feels like skirting too close to an unnamed danger.

Once again, Geralt surprises him. One moment Regis is staring into nothingness, stuck inside his brain, and the next Geralt is right there, holding him and smiling all the time. It's lopsided and tired, and Regis feels his chest grow tight again. Geralt keeps pulling him closer, until Regis is pressed against him chest to ankle.

"Okay?" Geralt asks again, fingers already coming to rub the soft skin around Regis' horns.

Regis swallows. Carefully he lets his tail rest on Geralt's hip, and when no protest comes, he relaxes.

"If this is not comfortable for you—"

"No, I like it, sorry," Regis blurts out. He tightens his arms around Geralt's waist. "I like this," he repeats, cheek pressing against Geralt's chest. The witcher gives a sleepy laugh. Regis' fingers start to trace patterns to his skin, occasionally tracking a scar they find, and gradually it becomes almost as easy as every other kind of intimacy.

Regis breathes in their combined scents, and his heart lurches. Something is different, and he doesn't know what it is, only that it's making him happy in a completely new way.

"You're nothing like I expected," Geralt murmurs into Regis' hair. 

"Oh?" Regis asks, soft and sleepy. Geralt's touch is familiar, and he keeps wanting more, but if he can have this, it's already more than enough.

"I wish we could have met in some other way." The words come thick with sleep, but they sink deep. Regis opens his eyes without seeing anything as something enormous crests inside him. He holds on to Geralt as he slips into sleep, trying to understand why he is aching when he feels happier than ever before.

 

**6.**   


There's a warm body pressed against his back. Soft breaths tickle the nape of his neck and a tail is loosely coiled around his ankle.

Geralt blinks awake slowly, the memories of last night returning to him as he does. Huh. So it wasn't a dream then.

It's been so long since he woke up next to someone, and he had honestly forgotten how good it feels. Regis' arm is wrapped around his chest and Geralt covers his hand with his own, holding him closer.

He stays like that, happy and content, until Regis begins to stir behind him. When he does, Geralt rolls over. He wants to look at him.

"Hey," he murmurs, meeting Regis' eyes.

"Hello," Regis replies, a bit tense. Strange. Shouldn't this be the kind of situation he would be most comfortable in?

Geralt reaches for one of Regis' horns, brushing his fingers against the spot where it meets his skin. The touch makes Regis' eyes fall closed again, and he seems to relax a bit.

"Did you sleep well?" Regis asks after a moment, his tail coming to rest against the small of Geralt's back.

"Yeah. Better than I have in a while."

"Me too," Regis says, his lips curling into a sleepy smile. Geralt feels a sudden urge to kiss it.

Oh.

It doesn't even come as a surprise, not really. Regis has been kind and sweet and funny, and Geralt can't remember the last time he felt so at ease with someone. Everything about Regis just feels so...natural. Even the tail and horns and the tattoos that don't seem to stay still. It didn't take long for Regis to feel like a friend, and it only seems to make sense that he would eventually mean something more. Still, the realization makes something shift inside Geralt's chest, makes it feel a bit warmer.

"What are you thinking about?" Regis asks, pulling Geralt from his thoughts.

"You," he admits. "Us. Never thought we'd share a bed."

"It's not so bad, is it?"

Geralt shrugs and gives Regis a grin. "Eh. You're okay."

It's a vast understatement and Geralt is sure Regis will understand it as the teasing it is. But Regis pushes himself up so that he's sitting, his back towards Geralt.

Geralt knows he needs to say something, but he's completely distracted by the artwork on Regis back. He hasn't seen it before, not even in those first few moments when Regis appeared to him without any clothes.

A raven soars across Regis' upper back, the tip of its wings almost wrapping around his shoulders. It's beautiful and majestic, the black feathers shimmering in blue. Geralt can swear he sees wind ripple through the feathers, making them tremble over Regis' skin. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out to touch.

Regis tenses a bit at the contact, but leans into it nonetheless. It's enough to bring Geralt back to reality.

"Hey. You alright?" he asks gently, stroking his fingers along the raven's feathers. "Didn't mean it like that. I really liked sleeping with you. Next to you." He hates that saying. It always leaves too much room for misinterpretation.

"I enjoyed it as well." Regis' tail comes up to coil around Geralt's wrist, keeping his hand in place. Geralt follows the curve of it with his eyes, and for the first time, he can see where it connects to Regis' body. He wants to touch there too, but doesn't dare to.

"Wanna stay a bit longer?" he asks instead, letting his finger trace the smooth line of the raven's wing. "Don't have anywhere to be today."

Regis is silent for a few seconds. Then he turns his head around a little, smiling. "Hm, I think I'd like that," he says. He lies back down on his side, letting his head settle in the crook of Geralt's neck and resting his hand on his chest. His tail curls up on top of Geralt's stomach, and Geralt can't resist brushing his fingers over it. That earns him a soft sigh and Regis snuggling closer, so he doesn't stop.

The newly discovered feelings and attraction rest in the back of his head, making themselves known every time Regis shifts against him. It would be so easy to just kiss him. To touch him. He already knows that Regis wants to, so there should be no stopping him.

Except…

Except once they do have sex, the pact will be fulfilled. There will be nothing keeping Regis here any longer, and he will return home. The thought makes something unpleasant twist in Geralt's gut.

"Hey, Regis?" he says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Yes?"

" _ If _ we manage to break the pact, would you ever visit me?"

Regis doesn't answer right away, and Geralt can imagine why; he hasn't spoken of the pact in...quite some time. Bringing it up must also call on memories of home.

"I don't know," Regis finally says, and the thing in Geralt's gut twists again. "Visiting without being summoned is very difficult and taxing, and it cannot be done for longer periods of time. Besides, I could just become summoned by someone else."

The thought of Regis being summoned by someone else, being  _ bound _ to someone else, doesn't sit right with Geralt. He tightens his hold around Regis' shoulders.

"I would like to visit you though," Regis continues, tracing a finger up and down Geralt's sternum. "I have to admit I've become rather fond of your company."

"Thought you said it was my cooking you liked," Geralt teases, recalling the conversation from the night before.

"Among other things," Regis assures. "But in any case, I don't think we'll have to think about it just yet, as the pact still remains. Unless you have a new lead?"

"No," Geralt lies. It's so very selfish, he knows that. Regis deserves to go home, to not be bound to a grumpy witcher. But Geralt is scared. Scared that if he says something right now, Regis will no longer be around once it's time to get out of bed.

He will tell Regis. But it can wait, at least for today. He wants to make sure the moment is just right, because he desperately wants his last memory of Regis to be a happy one.

***

Every day Geralt tells himself that this will be the day he lets Regis know how he feels. And every day he fails. He hates himself for doing this to Regis, for keeping him in the dark, but there are just so many things he doesn't want to lose.

Sharing the bed is one of them; Regis continues to sleep in Geralt's bed after that night, and the warmth of his body is something Geralt didn't know he needed until he got it. Now he doesn't want to give it up.

But sharing a bed also means seeing Regis half-naked both morning and evening, and Geralt really begins to understand why lust demons are so often described as creatures of temptation. In addition to the tattoos on his arms and the raven on his back, Regis also has a bird on each hip, their wings outstretched over his hip bones. Half of their bodies are hidden beneath the waistband of Regis' pants, and every time he sees them Geralt wants to look at them in their entirety, wants to see if they move too. He wants to put his mouth to them.

The desire tugs at him, urges him to just give in. At the same time his heart holds him back, clutching tight to Regis' company; his words, his smiles, his touches. Geralt's heart is losing the battle, however, because a treacherous part of it knows giving in and letting go of Regis is the right thing to do. It's only a matter of time.

 

**7.**   


Regis feels things shift.

They continue sharing the bed for sleep, and it's almost a form of elaborate torture, because Regis is what he is; he can't help but feel Geralt's feelings regarding him change. They bleed over, and Regis is painfully aware of everything suddenly having entirely new colors.

When they wake up, they're holding each other. Regis finds his tail wrapped around Geralt's legs, and the witcher holds on to him, looking at him with a smile that says it all.

Regis isn't strong enough to deny himself. If Geralt is comfortable enough to want Regis this close, there really isn't a question whether he'll allow it. Regis is coming to love the way Geralt feels, strong and always running hot, his hands stroking Regis' skin until he feels the need to crawl out of it, lest he go crazy.

Regis wakes up late, and recalls the contract they completed last evening; another wraith, or a rare variety. He had watched, mesmerized, as Geralt banished it, and afterwards they had sought each other out; Geralt had been panting, and Regis had breathed in the same air, so close their noses brushed.

Regis opens his eyes. A smile works itself on his face, because Geralt is spooning him. His nose is tucked into the back of Regis' neck. He is still sleeping, hand curling softly into Regis' hip. Regis closes his eyes again and allows his mind to drift, because being like this is glorious. He is trusted, and it's a novel feeling.

He doesn't want to leave. Geralt is warm and gorgeous, but he is so much more, too. Regis knows what he is feeling, because contrary to popular belief, incubi and succubi are no less emotionally intricate than humans. Regis presses closer to Geralt, and he aches, because he is slowly tipping over; he is falling for Geralt.

It is one in a billion chance that struck them, but Regis doesn't know whether he is lucky or not. He has been hesitant to bring it up, because he doesn't know how Geralt will react. The witcher is feeling desire towards Regis, but is that because the feeling is mutual, or because Regis has worn him down?

Regis sighs. He has no idea how humans deal with these things, and personally he can claim next to no experience.

Geralt makes a faint noise, and Regis focuses on him as he begins to wake up. He loves Geralt when he is still soft from sleep, draped over Regis in the bed and unwilling to move. Regis loves running his hands over the scarred skin and looking for places that make the witcher shiver. It's maddening, and Regis knows someday soon that tension will crack, but he doesn't want to stop.

Geralt's eyelashes ghost over the nape of his neck as he blinks. He yawns and stretches, and in the process wraps Regis tighter in his arms.

"Good morning," Geralt murmurs. His lips brush against skin, and before Regis can stop himself, he shivers.

Geralt stills. He doesn't go stiff, but something hovers over them.

Regis closes his eyes and tries to calm his speeding heart. He is acutely aware of every place where he is touching Geralt, and his body threatens to betray him; he is balancing at a knife's edge, the first thread of arousal unfurling inside him.

He is afraid of losing this. Regis wants to stay with Geralt, but if the witcher is ready to fulfill the terms of the pact, he is out of options.

Geralt's hand cups Regis' cheek. His thumb moves very slowly, mapping out his jaw and lips, and Regis struggles to stay still. He wants to reach out and taste, he is starting to burn up with desire, but at the same time his heart hurts.

He hasn't even told Geralt he is falling in love.

"Hey."

Geralt's voice is quiet and Regis hears he is smiling. He draws in a breath and turns over. Geralt doesn't let him get too far away. One arm is under Regis' head, the other curls around his waist, and they are so close.

With massive effort, Regis meets Geralt's eyes. They are still sleepy, but what makes Regis's heart lurch is Geralt's pupils widening as their eyes meet. The witcher smiles and his fingers stroke the small of Regis' back. His tail twitches before he gives in and allows it to drape over Geralt's thighs.

"I've been thinkin'," Geralt whispers. He looks away and his smile turns hesitant. "Could we—"

Regis cuts him off by drawing in a sharp breath. His heart is beating too loudly, and he knows the witcher can hear it.

In a split second, Geralt's gaze drops to Regis' mouth, and then he is leaning in.

Geralt kisses him, and Regis wants to give in. He wants to forget the lingering hesitation, because sweet elders, how he has wanted to do this; during the time they have spent together they have drifted closer and closer, and Regis wants to ask for all the rest. He would be ready to beg for it, because at the first brush of lips, his body feels like it catches fire.

Geralt gasps into his mouth and grips him tighter. Regis doesn't mean to kiss him back, but he needs it, desperately. His tongue slips out and he sucks on Geralt's bottom lip, and the man exhales shakily, body burning up under him. Regis presses still closer, and Geralt wraps his arms around him—

Regis pulls back, abruptly. He doesn't know how he ended up on top of Geralt, but now he is staring down at him. Geralt's hair is a mess and his lips look swollen, and Regis feels dread grip him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes. "I can't, I haven't told you—"

He turns into mist and flees, because he can't hold out any longer. A second more, and he would just lean back in.

Regis materializes into the guest room and curls up on the bed. He is shaking, and the blistering heat of the arousal shows no signs of abating. He concentrates on breathing, tries to calm himself enough to think.

He has to tell Geralt. The witcher has to know, just as he has to know that Regis won't take anything from him he isn't willing to give.

Regis opens his eyes when he hears the bedroom door creak open.

 

**8.**   


Geralt's first instinct is to touch, to comfort.

He doesn't get even a step into the room, however, before he stops himself. Geralt touching him is probably the last thing Regis wants right now. Instead, he crosses his treacherous arms in front of his chest, to keep them from reaching out on their own.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, wishing Regis would look at him. "I thought that was what you wanted."

He knows he's being such a fucking hypocrite. How many times haven't people said the same thing to him?

Regis tenses and sits up on the bed, still facing away. "Of course I want it."

Geralt takes a step closer. "Then why did you— Did I do something wrong?" Has he waited too long? Does Regis know that Geralt has spent several days being too selfish to let him go home? Has he understood what Geralt feels?

The questions rush through his head but Geralt can barely make any sense of them. In the end, it doesn't really matter what the answers to any of them are, as long as he can make Regis happy again.

"You did nothing wrong," Regis assures quietly, shaking his head. His tail twitches restlessly back and forth and he wraps it around himself.

"Something must've happened," Geralt presses, taking another step. "Please talk to me."

"I...I don't know how."

Geralt steps closer still, and sits down on the bed. He can't resist it anymore, and reaches for Regis' shoulder.

Before his hand can connect, Regis turns into mist. He appears again in the armchair in the corner, clutching his knees to his chest. A month ago, Geralt never would have thought that the way Regis would hurt him the most would be by  _ not _ touching him.

Geralt pulls his hand back to himself. "I'm sorry," he says again.

"No," Regis protests. "I'm the one who should apologize. I just...have a hard time finding the right words when I actually have something important to say."

Geralt waits, letting Regis find his footing. He tries not to think about how badly he wants to just be close to Regis again; the short distance between them feels enormous.

"I have noticed your thoughts—your desires—regarding me have changed the last few days," Regis begins, looking anywhere but at Geralt.

Geralt's chest tightens. So Regis knows, then. Knows that Geralt has been keeping him here.

"I am aware this was something you never wanted," Regis continues, "and I am so sorry if the reason for your change of mind is because of me, because of what I am. I would never intentionally influence you. I hope you can believe that."

"You haven't influenced me," Geralt assures. He knows it, deep in his bones.

"But—"

"Didn't you listen back then?" Geralt continues, his mouth running ahead of his mind. "I've never been attracted to someone if I didn't lo—"

Geralt's eyes go wide as he cuts himself off. He didn't mean to say quite that much.

It's his turn to look away as he forces himself to continue. He can't leave this half-said. "If I didn't love them," he manages after a few painfully silent moments. "You're no exception, Regis."

No reply comes. If it wasn't for the fact that Geralt can hear Regis' unsteady breathing, he would think that the incubus had simply left.

"Wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how to. And I know you'll be gone as soon as the pact is fulfilled, but I don't want you to leave. It was selfish of me, still is, and I'm sorry for it." It has to be the longest Geralt has ever spoken without Regis saying anything in turn.

After what feels like an eternity, Regis moves.

Not by turning into mist, as he almost always does, but by simply standing up and walking over to the bed. He sits down next to Geralt; close, but not close enough that they're touching.

"I don't want to leave either," he whispers finally. Geralt feels the tentative brush of Regis' tail against the nape of his neck. He leans into it without a thought.

"No?" Geralt wants to reach out and touch, but after his last failed attempt he doesn't dare to. He does manage to meet Regis' eyes though.

"Of course not. I've...I've never been as happy as I am with you," Regis confesses, a shy smile finding its way to his lips. "And while it is a first for me, I am falling in love with you as well."

Geralt blinks. "You—?"

"Yes." Regis reaches for Geralt's hand and takes it gently. "You're quite charming."

Geralt grins, wide enough that he probably looks pretty stupid. He doesn't care. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Regis assures, his tail slipping around to caress Geralt's cheek. He seems to remember something then, and looks away, smile faltering. "I'm sorry for panicking a moment ago. I couldn't let anything happen between us without you knowing how I felt, nor could I live with myself if you were only doing it out of obligation."

Geralt reaches for Regis' face, making their eyes meet again. "There's no obligation, I promise. I want this. I want  _ you _ ."

Regis nods and the smile returns. "I know that now."

Regis' gaze drops then, landing on Geralt's lips. Geralt leans in, and Regis meets him.

"Wait," Geralt manages when they're but a fraction of an inch apart. It takes all of his effort not to close the distance, but he knows he won't want to stop once he does. "I want this. So much. But if we do this, you'll go away."

Regis pulls back, standing up from the bed. Their hands are still joined and he gives a light tug. "Come."

Geralt lets Regis lead him out into the living room and they come to stand in front of the bookshelf. He reaches for a large tome, one that Geralt instantly recognizes. It's the one he used to summon Regis.

A loose scrap of paper marks the page where the summoning words are written, and Regis opens the book there as he puts it down on the coffee table.

"You see these words here?" he says, dragging his fingers below some of the text. "They let you summon a random incubus, which just happened to be me. If you instead exchange them for my name, you'll always get me, every time. And there is no limit to how many times you can summon an incubus, especially if said incubus is very enthusiastic about it."

"It's that simple?" Geralt asks, shifting his attention from the text to Regis. It seems almost too good to be true.

"It is," Regis assures, smiling as he reaches for Geralt's wrist. "You will need my full name, of course, but you already have it: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy."

It takes Geralt a second to realize that Regis isn't just holding his wrist, but looking at the markings there. Reading from them. "That's what it says?"

Regis nods. "Indeed. Just as your name is written on mine."

Geralt looks at the writing around Regis' wrist. He still can't read the runes, but just knowing what they mean makes something warm bloom inside him. Geralt clears his throat. "Would you mind just writing your name down so I can read it too? Don't wanna get it wrong."

"Of course." Before letting go of his wrist, Regis presses a light kiss to it, sending sparks up Geralt's arm and down his spine. While Regis finds a pen Geralt just stands there completely dumbfounded.

"There," Regis says after a moment, placing the slip of paper, now adorned with his name, back into the book. He reaches for both of Geralt's hands then, his tail finding its favorite spot by the back of his neck. "Will you promise me you'll summon me again as soon as you can?"

"You don't wanna see your friends?"

"I want to be with you."

Geralt swallows and nods. "Then I promise."

Regis smiles, one hand letting go of Geralt's to instead cup his face. "You have no idea," he sighs. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to do this."

Then he leans in and finally presses their lips together.

 

**9.**   


He doesn't expect kissing to feel very different. He has been alive for a long time, after all, and an incubus gets to experience almost everything there is in regards to sex.

But when Geralt pulls him closer and they finally, finally kiss, Regis knows something is different. He is burning up all over again, and it threatens to overwhelm him. He is finally allowed to touch and taste, and he wants to do so many things he doesn't know where to begin.

Regis makes them go slow. His hands come to cup Geralt's face as he kisses him, tongue teasing until the witcher draws in an unsteady breath and pushes his own in; Regis sucks on it, and Geralt whines, deep in his throat. His arms wrap tighter around Regis, and a hand comes to rest right above the base of his tail. The warmth seeps into him, and Regis arches into Geralt.

Geralt's fingers tease, brushing and rubbing circles until Regis can't take it anymore. He thrusts, and thinks what an excellent idea doing this the first thing in the morning is; Geralt is wearing nothing but his boxers and an old t-shirt. No need to strip off so many layers.

Geralt gasps as Regis' hips collide with his. His hands sneak lower, and then they hold on as he grinds against Regis' hard cock.

"Like that?" he asks with a breathy voice.

"Mm, just so," Regis agrees. He helps Geralt out of his shirt, and oh, it is even better now. Geralt smells incredible, and he is grinning like he is exactly where he wants to be. Without a word, he starts walking, and Regis lets him guide them both back to the bedroom.

Once there, he pushes Geralt onto the bed. With a thought, his own underwear is gone, and as he crawls on top of Geralt, the witcher licks his lips. His eyes roam over Regis' tattoos, and come to a stop once they reach his hips.

"Wondered what those look like," he says with a laugh. Before Regis can get a word in, the witcher flips them around. He doesn't say anything, but his mouth starts on him at the collarbones, and Regis pushes his hands into the white hair. He manages to ease the hair tie off, but it's a long struggle when Geralt licks and bites him, brushing his lips against every tattoo.

Regis is panting by the time Geralt latches onto the birds on his hip bones. The witcher sucks on one of them, and then pulls back to watch.

"I swear they move," he murmurs as he looks up at Regis.

Regis chuckles. "They might. But not for everybody."

Geralt nods and gets back to work, but before he can do more than press a kiss to the base of Regis' cock, the incubus sits up and drags him into a sloppy kiss. Regis knows he is the stronger of them, and he has been waiting for the chance to demonstrate it; when he turns Geralt on his back and pins him down with no effort, his lover's eyes go wide and pleased.

"Show-off," he grins. Regis laughs. He is feeling loose and happy. He bends down for a kiss, and then veers off, licking just under Geralt's ear. His tail moves out of the way, and the witcher grabs it gently, rubbing his fingers along the smooth length.

"You see, my dear, there is one more thing I must tell you," Regis whispers. Geralt shivers. Regis smells his arousal, and it is the single most appealing thing he has ever experienced.

"All of my kind are just as unique as you humans," Regis goes on. His hands release their hold and start stroking down his chest. "Each one of us has a unique skillset."

"That so?" Geralt asks. His voice is intrigued, and when Regis pulls back enough to meet his gaze, he grins.

"Oh yes," Regis purrs. 

He loves this part. The anticipation is mixing with the chemistry between them, and he savours it.

Regis slides his hand to cup Geralt's cheek, and then presses his fingers through his lips. Geralt's eyes go wide, but he doesn't protest; he shudders and closes his lips around the digits, and Regis draws in a breath as he feels Geralt's tongue find them.

"My talent is knowing you," Regis murmurs. He slides his fingers almost all the way out, and Geralt sucks them back in. His hands are resting on Regis' hips, and his grip is hard enough to bruise. 

"I know, instinctively, how you need to be loved."

At the words, Geralt's eyes flutter closed and he moans around the fingers. Regis his panting as he watches, and while he has never said those exact words to anyone, he knows they are true. Right now he feels the energy pulling at him, and it is telling him exactly what he needs to do.

Regis bends down and licks one of Geralt's nipples. The witcher whines again, and his tongue rubs against Regis' fingers. When he finally pulls them out, Geralt is flushed and he drags Regis into a fervent kiss. His breaths come hot and heavy.

Regis smiles, and as they kiss, he tugs Geralt's underwear off. It's amazing to press his hand there and feel what he has been smelling for quite some time; the witcher is leaking, and when Regis' fingers start to map him out, he gasps. The tail wraps itself securely around Geralt's ankle, anchoring him.

"Regis," Geralt gets out, but right then Regis moves on to his cock and the rest of his words disappear into a breathless moan.

" _ Hello, _ " Regis whispers. He allows his fingers to wander for a while, spreading the slick until Geralt's eyes start to look a bit wild.

"Please, come on," he says. "Fuck me."

Regis kisses him, hard and demanding, and right then he slides his fingers inside. Geralt's moan is muffled, but his legs fall open and Regis feels him push back. He enjoys the hot tightness, and it is almost too much. He breaks the kiss and scoots lower, and before Geralt can do more than crane his head up, Regis sucks him into his mouth.

A broken cry tears free. Regis licks and sucks, and crooks his fingers as he starts to fuck Geralt with them. He feels strong fingers grip his hair, and he pulls back enough to grin.

"Grip the horns, love."

Geralt stares, eyes half-lidded, and then a laugh breaks out. His fingers carefully wrap around Regis' horns, and as Regis goes back to business, he enjoys Geralt steering him.

He gets lost in it; Regis has always loved giving head. The gender of his partner doesn't matter, because once you figure out what makes them tick, it's glorious. Regis grows harder and harder as he sucks, and then he starts to feel Geralt tightening around his fingers. He picks up the pace, and it takes only a few moments to feel the witcher start spasming as he comes, body going taut and back arching off the bed. Regis keeps pleasuring him until Geralt falls slack and nudges his head gently. He releases the grip he had on the horns, and pulls Regis up. Regis wipes down his chin and grins, because he knows he's done for; Geralt is sweaty and flushed, and smiling at him with adoration written all over him. 

Regis is in love, and he quite likes the state of things.

They kiss, and Regis allows Geralt to come down from his high. He is pliant in Regis' arms, but it takes much less time than Regis expects for Geralt to tug him still closer.

"Witcher stamina," Geralt chuckles. He cants his hips up, and as his wet thigh drags against Regis' cock, it's the incubus' turn to stifle a groan. He has been so hard all this time, and before he can ask about preferences, Geralt grabs him and drags the head of his cock against himself.

Regis' head falls against Geralt's shoulder, because it's too much. The tip of his cock is rubbing against the wet, hot parts, and he can't remember the last time he was this desperate.

"May I—?" Regis gasps, and Geralt nods as his hands tug again. Regis bites his lip as he slides in, pleasure settling hot and heavy inside his abdomen.

It's not even the fact that they're as close as two people can be, physically. It's the way Geralt looks at him that undoes Regis. He tries to hold the torrent of feelings at bay, but then Geralt presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Regis' breath hitches.

"Hey," Geralt says. They're not moving, and he cups Regis' cheek. "What is it?"

Regis draws in a breath. He feels so alive, his focus narrowing down into perfect clarity of a single moment.

"You," Regis murmurs. He brushes his lips against Geralt's. "It's you. I want to stay with you."

A bright, happy smile breaks free. Geralt hugs him close and kisses his neck as his hands stroke up and down his back. One of them cups the base of his tail, which shoots out and wraps around his arm.

"You have me."

Regis breathes deep. Then he moves, slowly pulling out before thrusting. Geralt gasps, and Regis growls, because fuck everything he thought he knew; this is better than ever. He keeps the pace steady after that, and when Geralt's hand reaches between them and starts stroking himself again, Regis grins.

"I'll take care of you." Regis knows it's true. They'll take care of each other.

Geralt's breathing grows ragged again, and Regis' instinct nudges him; the witcher is sensitive after the first round. He feels everything very keenly. Regis thrusts harder, and Geralt's composure crumbles away. He becomes a panting, gasping mess, and Regis keeps him at that point as long as he can. He feels Geralt grow tight again, but he doesn't slow down. He keeps fucking him until Geralt grips him tight and cries out, drawing out the height of orgasm.

Regis fans the fire as long as he is able, but the pulsating pleasure crests too quickly. He tries to hold on, hips losing their rhythm but still dragging out more needy sounds from his lover, and then he cracks. Regis hold Geralt tight as he comes, mind aflame and sensing only the forceful punch through his brain and being.

It feels like his climax carves him hollow. When it finally tapers out, Regis' knees buckle and he collapses on top of Geralt, who gives a hoarse laugh and holds him. Regis manages to tuck his face into Geralt's neck. He doesn't pull out, and Geralt holds him in place. His head is full of dull buzzing, and underneath it all something fierce is burning.

It's been there a while, he supposes. Loving Geralt is so easy, and he relishes the idea of being allowed to do so.

They stay quiet for a long while. Geralt strokes his hair and the base of the horns, and Regis floats in the easy, relaxed state. He is surprised to discover he doesn't feel any different than before, in relation to his energy. He has been satisfied and decidedly not starving while he has been here, and having sex has not changed anything.

Finally, Geralt rolls them over. Regis dislodges himself, and the witcher wrinkles his nose at the mess they've made. He keeps smiling while he does, so Regis doesn't feel too bad about making Geralt need a change of sheets. He mists into the bathroom and returns with a washcloth.

Regis longs for more cuddling, and Geralt doesn't disappoint. The second he deems them clean enough he pulls Regis back into the bed and drapes himself over him.

"That was amazing." Geralt's voice is heavy and satisfied, and Regis smiles. It's not about being smug about his skills in bed this time. He is happy in a way that has weight, because he made Geralt feel so good.

"You are amazing," Regis says. He cards his fingers through the white hair, and Geralt sighs. He looks content. Regis' tail rests at the back of his neck again, the tip stroking his cheek. 

Everything about this pact has been different, and Regis knows he won't feel like lingering in his own dimension once he returns there. He trusts Geralt will keep his word and summon him back, and not just for the phenomenal sex. Regis wants to spend time together. He wants to cuddle, and learn everything there is to know about Geralt.

"Your thinking is very loud," Geralt murmurs into his shoulder.

"I was just thinking about us."

"Huh?" Geralt peers at him with a lazy smile. "Anything specific?"

Regis shrugs. He feels happy here. "Not really, no. I really don't feel like leaving."

Geralt closes his eyes. "I don't want you to, but I'll summon you back." He is silent for a while, and then asks: "How long do you have until you go?"

Regis presses a kiss to his temple. "It varies." He feels drowsy and he wishes he could somehow prevent the inevitable. Dozing with Geralt and waking up without the fear of getting pulled away sounds too tempting.

Geralt gives a sleepy rumble. "Wake me up when you leave, will you?"

"Of course."

***

Regis wakes up, and for a while he is disoriented. There is a heavy, warm body plastered to his side. His head feels slow with lingering sleep, but then it clicks.

He is still here. Geralt is asleep next to him, and going by the light it's afternoon.

Regis sits up and rubs his eyes. A glance at the clock confirms his suspicion. It's been several hours, but he is still here. He can't feel the pull that signals his return. He feels exactly as he did before; warm and happy, although disbelief is starting to join in.

"Regis?" A mumble makes him turn his head. Geralt cracks open one eye and then seems to wake up more. He brushes his hair out from his eyes. "You're still here?" His voice sounds hopeful, and it twists Regis' heart.

"I am." He lies back down, and Geralt pulls him closer. They settle against each other like it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

"I thought you'd be forced to go." Geralt smiles as sleep leaves him.

"So did I," Regis says. "An hour is the maximum I have lingered after a pact has been completed, and it's been over three by now." He thinks of something, and looks at his wrist. His heart skips a beat; Geralt's name is still there, unchanged.

Regis' eyes go wide. He drags Geralt's hand in front of his face, and yes: his name is in its place, too.

"Impossible."

Geralt looks down at their wrists too. He frowns.

"I thought you said the pact would be fulfilled once we had sex."

"I thought it would," Regis says a bit helplessly. He rakes his brain, but nothing useful appears. 

Geralt's hand brushes his cheek, and Regis looks at him. His tail has gone ahead and curled around Geralt's arm already. When Regis meets Geralt's eye, the witcher smiles. It's the soft smile Regis likes the best.

"I'm happy you're still here."

Regis kisses him. He presses Geralt down and comes to rest against his chest, and they kiss for a long time. Relief is making Regis dizzy; he has no idea what is keeping him here, but if it means he can stay, he'll take it. Geralt holds him like he knows what Regis is thinking just then.

"I'm so happy to be with you," Regis says when they at last come up for air.

Geralt nuzzles his neck. He opens his mouth to say something, but his stomach makes a loud gurgling sound. He looks embarrassed, but Regis laughs.

"I do seem to recall you promised to make me more pancakes."

 

**10.**   


Another month passes, and Regis still hasn't been called back to his home dimension. It takes a while, but Geralt finally lets himself believe that Regis gets to stay for good. He still worries sometimes that Regis won't be able to leave if his feelings were to change, but he also trusts Regis to talk to him if that would ever be the case.

After they decide to commit  to each other, Regis takes to experimenting. He has developed an interest in Geralt's witcher potions and oils, and enjoys looking for ways to improve or alter their function. Geralt happily lets him, partly because Regis comes up with many useful things, but also because his excited smile when a new invention is successful is almost blindingly gorgeous.

Aside from the potions and oils, Regis also experiments with their bond. Or more precisely, with the tether. He hasn't explained just how he performs those experiments, save for the fact that it's something complex and tied to his nature. Geralt enjoys being close to Regis more than anything, but he also can't deny that it's a relief when Regis manages to stretch the tether far enough that Geralt can walk to the grocery store on his own without causing any discomfort for either of them.

He comes home from one such trip one afternoon. He can feel a gentle pull on the tether and knows Regis must be in the workshop, so after putting the groceries away that is where he heads.

Geralt barely has the time to place his hand on the door handle before he hears a hiss and then smells the faint traces of smoke.

"Regis?"

Regis turns around to face him, looking a bit embarrassed. "I seem to, ah, have miscalculated somewhat," he admits. "Would you…?"

Geralt flicks his fingers in Aard, and the small flames go out. "Everything going alright?" he asks then, crossing the small room and taking both of Regis' hands. Regis meets him with his tail, coiling it around Geralt's shin.

"It is," Regis assures. "Though I do believe it's time I took a break."

Geralt hums in agreement and gives Regis a quick kiss. "Bought chocolate cookies."

Regis grins. "I love you. Go put on some of that coffee you insist on drinking, and I'll be with you as soon as I've cleaned up a bit in here."

"Love you too," Geralt says with another kiss, before doing what Regis suggested.

***

That evening, when they're both lying in bed, sweaty and out of breath, Regis crawls on top of Geralt's chest.

"I've been thinking," he says with a sleepy smile. He takes Geralt's wrist in his hand, brushing his fingers along the runes of his names there. "I think I figured out why the pact hasn't dissolved."

Geralt is both confused and intrigued, and Regis' tone of voice gives him no reason to worry. "That so?" he asks, his gaze following the path of Regis' fingers.

"It demands satisfaction," Regis begins. "I've always thought that it couldn't mean any other kind than sexual, but I must have been wrong. All other pacts I've had, and that my brethren have had, have been created with a clear intent. Yours wasn't. And since you didn't summon me with sex in mind, sex was never going to dissolve the pact."

As he speaks, his fingers trail absentmindedly from Geralt's wrist, down along his stomach, and come to settle on his hip, moving in slow circles there. The touch makes it hard for Geralt to keep his eyes open. "No?"

Regis shakes his head. "I don't believe so, at least. But then, over time, as you grew more fond of me—" His smile grows wider, more smug. "—your intent and what you wanted from me changed. Now you can only be satisfied, and the pact fulfilled, if I stay with you. Paradoxically enough that means fulfilling the pact and me leaving would contradict the terms of the pact itself and once more make it unfulfilled."

Geralt blinks. "O...kay?" He got the gist of it, but he is also just on the wrong side of sleepy for this.

Regis seems to notice. "Perhaps we should wait with the philosophy until morning?"

"Mhm. As long as it means you're staying, 'm happy," Geralt tells him, cupping his face and brushing his fingers against the base of his horns, the way he knows Regis loves.

Regis leans down to kiss him, then shifts to rest his head on Geralt's chest. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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